


At Respite's End

by Anweyr



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: Angst and Porn, F/M, PIV Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:52:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anweyr/pseuds/Anweyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tomorrow he's going to have to leave, to reverse his decision and make this past year never have happened, and every time he looks at her smiling face his heart breaks a little.</p><p>(One take on the bad ending of the "At Journey's End" sidequest, written for Porn Battle XV).</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Respite's End

Stocke thought he'd inured himself to the worst – he's seen his friends die more times than he dares count, he’s killed three of them by his own hand. But it seems this year of peace with Raynie has softened him, or maybe it's just brought his walls down. Tomorrow he's going to have to leave, to reverse his decision and make this past year never have happened, and every time he looks at her smiling face his heart breaks a little.

But the war shows no sign of abating and the world is dying faster every day. He has no choice. The White Chronicle lies silent, its very presence a tangible rebuke.

He gives them both one last day, although Raynie doesn’t know it’s the last one, and soon she won’t even remember it happening. A normal day, full of farmwork and chores, since Raynie’s gift to him has been a normal life. He makes her favorite dish for dinner as best he can -- tomatoes and peppers are getting hard to come by these days -- and does the washing-up himself.

He’s up to his arms in suds when Raynie comes up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. She stands on her toes (he can tell, since her breath’s hot on his ear rather than his neck) and says, “Sooo, Stock...you’ve been working hard all day, and you made curried eggs for dinner…I’m thinking maybe I should find a way to thank you?”

Raynie never been very good at subtlety, but she tries.  

“I should finish the dishes--” he begins, but she nips his neck and it becomes very hard to focus on anything else. Then it hits him -- this is his very last chance to be with Raynie, to hold her, kiss her, hear her moan his name, bury himself in her and bring them both to the peak...

He barely takes the time to dry his hands before he spins and crashes his mouth onto hers. She laughs breathlessly, her lips curving under his, then shifts her stance and presses the hollow of her hip against his growing erection.

He can’t keep his hands still, needing to touch all of her, caress every curve and commit them all to memory. He traces her arms, hips, waist, thighs, back…

When he cups her breast she moans into his mouth, and with his other hand he presses against the small of her back, needing her closer, although she’s already as close as can be when they’re both dressed.

She fists a hand in his shirt and drags him backwards; he nearly stumbles before he realizes she’s headed towards the bedroom. Once there, they make short work of each other’s clothes. Sometimes he likes to take his time uncovering her, delighting in the discovery, but right now he wants so badly to be engulfed by her flesh. She seems just as impatient, pulling down his pants and drawers all at once.

He’s not sure which one of them pulls them down onto the bed first. They’re standing at the foot, so there’s a short scramble to scoot back so they can lay down comfortably, facing each other on their sides.  

Their mouths find each other once again, and she caresses his hardness as his hand goes for the joining of her legs. She parts her thighs at his touch, tipping on her back a little to give him access. His fingers are soon slick from stroking her, parting the curly brush of her hairs, sliding in between her folds and then out again to brush the nub of her clit. She palm the head of his cock. It feels so, so very good.

She releases him suddenly, and he groans in frustration. But she grabs him by the shoulders, tugging at him. “If you don’t take me now, Stocke, I swear I’ll-.. I’ll _something_. ”

He rolls on top of her in an instant. There’s an awkward moment as they arrange their limbs -- his hands on either side, supporting him, his legs between hers -- and then he slides into her.

She’s so warm and welcoming, and with each thrust he feels like he’s burying himself ever deeper. He’s greedy, selfish, focused more on his need than hers, although from her gasps and moans and occasional buck of her hips she’s enjoying it plenty. But he needs to know this is real, that the woman beneath him is warm flesh not fevered imaginings, because by tomorrow this never will have happened.

But instead of building, he can feel his pleasure ebbing, slipping away to be replaced by growing fatigue. The more he tries it seems the faster it fades. Raynie’s moans die down, too; she’s still making appreciative noises, but they’re quieter and further between.

This will be the last time he hears her like this, he realizes, and the weight of it is too much. All at once he’s overcome with exhaustion; he lets himself collapse on her chest.

“Stocke?”

“Sorry.” He props himself up on one arm and reaches between them to stroke her clit. “Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“Nah. But, um,” Raynie's voice has lost its purr. “You can move your hand. I don't think it's gonna happen for me, not tonight. Sorry.”

He removes his hand. “I'm the one who's sorry. I’ve been neglecting you.”

She shrugs and smiles. “Nah, it's nobody's fault. And I've been enjoying it, really! I just can tell I'm not gonna… well, I guess I wore myself out with the farmwork. If you think you can, though, I’m good for another minute or two, I think.”

He knows he can’t. Wordlessly he pulls out and rolls off her, sprawling on his back beside her, but leaving a few inches between them.

“Hey, don't mope.” Raynie turns on her side and scoots over, draping an arm over his ribcage. Her other hand plays with his hair. “It's just sex. It's not like it's the end of the world.”

Stocke's breath catches in his throat. _Yes it is._

She must have noticed his tension, because she makes an exasperated noise. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes,” he says quietly, then swallows a sudden lump. “You have no idea.”

“Good. So did I. So it was worth it, even if we didn’t get a, er, ‘happy ending’.” She chuckles awkwardly at her own euphemism. “Besides, it’s not like we can’t try again later.”

Stocke is about to dismiss the idea -- he’s got to return to Historia, there is no later, _they_ don’t have a later, not together -- when he realizes she’s right, even if she's talking about something else. His duty for now is to fight the wielder of the Black Chronicle and halt the desertification of the world, but after all that’s over he can hang up his sword and live together with her once more.

He relaxes. Raynie squeezes his arm and says, “Did you really think we couldn’t? You dummy! I love you. I’ll give you all the second chances you like.”

“Thanks.” He reaches his arm up to clasp her hand, folding his forearm along hers. “I love you too.”

She snuggles in closer, her body pressed solidly against his, skin on skin. He can feel the bulge of her breasts, but it’s comforting rather than arousing. A restful silence descends.

He’s still going to have to leave, but it can wait until morning. Getting some sleep isn’t a bad idea, given that if he remembers correctly it’s midday where he’s going to return to.

He falls asleep besides his lover -- but it’s not, he promises himself, the last time he will. Just the last time for a while.


End file.
